Apologize
by Digitallace
Summary: D/H slash - One Shot Song fic. Inspired by One Republic's - Apologize. A tale of heartbreak and woe.


APOLOGIZE FANFIC

Apologize – My first, and possibly my last song-fic. It's not my usual thing, but I was inspired in the car this morning and typed it out very quickly. Hopefully it's not too rough around the edges.

I'm hangin' on your rope,  
Got me ten feet off the ground.  
And I'm hearin' what you say,  
But I just can't make a sound.  
You tell me that you need me,  
Then you go and cut me down...  
But wait...  
You tell me that you're sorry,  
Didn't think I'd turn around...  
And say...

That it's too late to apologize.  
It's too late...  
I said it's too late to apologize.  
It's too late.  
Yeah!

I'd take another chance,  
Take a fall, take a shot for you.  
I need you like a heart needs a beat,  
But it's nothin' new.  
I loved you with a fire red,  
Now it's turnin' blue...  
And you say...  
Sorry, you're not the angel  
Heaven let me think was you...  
But I'm afraid...

It's too late to apologize.  
It's too late.  
I said it's too late to apologize.  
It's too late.  
Whoa!

It's too late to apologize.  
It's too late.  
I said it's too late to apologize.  
It's too late.

It's too late to apologize.  
I said it's too late to apologize.  
I'm holdin' on your rope,  
got me ten feet off the ground.

--

Harry couldn't breathe.

It wasn't the first time he had come home to a scene that he wanted to forget. His spacious London flat, littered with articles of clothing that weren't his, and certainly not Draco's. He took a tentative step into the living room, his who body shaking with rage and sorrow.

He had promised.

The slimy git had promised that the last time would be just that… the last.

Walking through the living room, his vision blurred with unshed tears, he tripped over a pair of barely used trainers. Black and silver, just like the ones he had bought Draco a few weeks before. He kicked the offending shoe as hard as he could and it rocketed through the flat to land squarely against their bedroom door, but not before sending a lamp to the ground with a shattering crash.

"Shit," came the familiar mumbled voice from the adjacent room.

A moment later a bloke, that Harry vaguely recognized as the guy Draco danced with from the club the night before, came scurrying out of their bedroom, his trousers still unbuttoned. He kept clear of Harry, who was gripping his wand in his shaking right hand, still aiming it at the floor, but was very tempted to hex the young man trying desperately to leave his flat.

Wisely the stranger didn't try to stop and recover any of his other things, and left through the large metal industrial front door before Harry could make up his mind whether to kill him or not.

As Minister of Magic, Harry could have easily obliterated the kid without even suffering a penalty, but he would never abuse his power that way. Draco know that when he invited the boy over, and part of him knew that now, as he waited for Harry to find him in the bedroom.

He walked to the bedroom door, still quivering with pent up emotions. Draco was lying on the bed, naked aside from a pair of green silk boxers.

"Harry," he began, as if nothing were unusual. "You're home early."

Harry just blinked, both to fight back his tears and to clear the confusion. He didn't know how his boyfriend could be so cold and callus.

He was a Slytherin, the answer obvious the moment Harry thought the question, but it was more than that. He was evil.

He knew every button and weakness that Harry possessed and he used each for his own betterment. Evil might be a bit hasty… more like spoiled.

As a Malfoy, Draco was used to getting exactly what he wanted, exactly when he wanted it. The same held true when it came to wanting Harry, which he had done for the last fifteen years. Ever since the moment Harry bested Voldemort, Draco wanted him as his own, as his pet, as his plaything, never once caring about what Harry wanted. Harry loved the Slytherin, truly and deeply and it was heartbreaking to know that, though Draco loved him back, in his own twisted way, that it wasn't the same devotion the Gryffindor held.

"I don't really have a set schedule, Malfoy. You know that," Harry hissed.

Draco winced at the use of his surname, knowing that it meant the worst was still to come. Harry only called him that when he was truly furious. He had every right to be angry of course, though it's not as though they were married, or even properly bonded, they did share an agreement of sorts. Well, at least Harry thought they did.

For his part, Draco just couldn't help himself. He loved Harry, more than the brave Gryffindor would ever even know, but he was greedy. He knew it was this problem that slowly broke his lover's heart, his inability to commit to him and him alone, which killed Harry a little bit each day.

Quite frankly he was surprised his raven-haired boyfriend put up with it as long as he had. Draco would have thrown him out years ago, had the situation been reversed. In fact, their relationship wouldn't have survived the very first incident.

Nobody cheats on a Malfoy.

It was hypocritical, a double standard he knew, but it didn't stop him from acknowledging the truth. Draco knew himself better than anyone, maybe even better than Harry knew him.

The time was coming, he knew, the moment when his beautiful lover's heart would break completely and shatter. He could see it in his cold green eyes, shiny orbs that usually held nothing but undeserved passion and reverence for him. It would happen one day, that Draco would find himself packing his things and being thrown out of their shared home, but he knew today was not that day.

He feared that day like he feared his own death, _more_ than he feared his own death. Hell would be a welcome respite if he were to ever lose his Gryffindor.

Even knowing all of this, he couldn't stop himself, couldn't stop taking advantage.

"Harry, listen-" he whispered.

His ebony mane shook fervently. "No. I'll not listen to any more of your lies," he spat.

He walked from the room and quickened his stride as he approached the front door, slamming it in his wake. Draco got up and put on the rest of his clothes and cleaned up the mess that had been left behind. As he gathered up the foreign articles of clothing he winced. He knew that they belonged to the boy he had just been fucking in the other room, but he didn't even know his name. It didn't matter, _he_ didn't matter.

Only Harry mattered.

He berated himself for the thousandth time, wondering which of his friends Harry had run to this time. He was surprised Hermione or Ron didn't come over and murder him themselves with how many times they were forced to console a sobbing and broken Harry because of something _he_ did.

He picked up the black and silver trainer that had been the notification of Harry's arrival and howled as a sliver of glass sliced into his flesh. Hopping around like an idiot he went for his wand, but stopped short. After hurting Harry, Draco usually refrained from using magic. It was his version of a punishment of sorts, though admittedly not enough of one.

Cleaning the room like a muggle would be his self-inflicted burden that evening. He pulled the glass from his foot and stopped himself from reflexively healing the deep wound. It would serve as a temporary reminder that he was not invincible and that one day his actions would injure him more severely than a tiny piece of glass.

Unfortunately the cut would heal, and Draco would repeat his past mistakes more assuredly than he would have coffee the next morning.

--

"I love him," Harry groaned.

"I know you do, Harry, but he doesn't deserve you," Hermione whispered softly in his ear as she smoothed the cold, damp washrag across his forehead.

"Bloody well right he doesn't deserve him, he deserves a giant kick in the arse is what he-"

"Ronald," Hermione cut off his grumbling.

Ron merely shrugged and paced back over to the window seat. He wouldn't apologize. The smarmy ferret would get what was coming to him one way or another, and just as soon as Harry gave the word, Ron would be there to dish out the vengeance. He dreamed about punching the foul git in his perfectly smug face, could feel the crushing of the pale nose under his fist, and smell the metallic coppery scent of blood in the air.

He had only reluctantly agreed to Harry and Draco as a couple in the first place, but now, with all the havoc the blonde caused for his best mate, he wanted nothing more than to kill the bastard.

"Harry, I'll run you a bath and set your things out in the spare room," she moved to get up and Harry caught her arm.

"Thanks, Mione," he rasped.

She only smiled and nodded, rushing to the back of the house to prepare his things. Of course she would do anything to help Harry. He was her oldest and closest friend and she would always be there when he needed her. She knew that Harry's distress caused a fair bit of anguish on her husband, but Ron would calm down and things would go back to normal for a bit.

It didn't escape her that these incidents were getting more and more frequent however. She could only speculate as to what caused Draco to foul up a relationship as good as the one he had, so thoroughly. She knew he loved Harry, she could see it in his sparkling silver eyes. Every time he looked at the Gryffindor, he practically glowed with happiness. So why?

It wasn't the first time she had asked herself that question, and based on what she saw tonight it wouldn't be the last. Harry was strong willed, but even he had a breaking point, and she was sure it was fast coming.

"Harry, love, I have your bath ready," she called, then left the room and headed to her own.

--

Harry climbed into the warm bath and tried to relax. Visions of Draco sitting across from him, gently washing his outstretched feet, came unbidden into his mind. The Slytherin loved to get all wet and soapy with him and make love for hours, effectively getting them both all dirty again.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Harry muttered to himself, as he began draining the water and switched on shower instead. At least with the running water of the shower, his tears would blend right in.

It felt like he had a noose tied around his neck and the executioner was Draco, holding the rope just enough to be tight and uncomfortable, but not kicking the chair out from under him, merely inching it away from his grasping feet.

He couldn't breath and he realized it was because he had slumped down in the slowly draining tub, submerging his head below the warm liquid depths. He knew logically he couldn't drown himself, but the idea was appealing. He decided to stay submerged until his self-preservation instinct kicked in and made him sit up. Maybe he could at least inflict a little brain damage from lack of oxygen.

He thought of his angelic lover as he willed his body to stay beneath the water. He thought of his flawlessly pale face, his pink pouting lips and his smoldering gray eyes. He thought of his perfect silky platinum hair that would fall around them both like a curtain blocking the outside world. He thought of his almost completely unmarred skin, aside from a ragged range of scars on his chest that Harry himself had inflicted almost two decades ago.

Harry loved Draco with his whole burning heart, but it was turning colder, freezing in his chest. His eyes reflected it back to him in his reflection, what were once brilliant green gemstones, just like his mother's, were now dull and lifeless. His life meant nothing without Draco.

Why continue living it?

Those were his final thoughts as he felt the chair being finally kicked out from under him.

--

Tangled limbs thrashed and slid across black silk sheets, hot lips pressed along pale flesh. Sharp fingertips dug into his chest and Draco woke with a start.

Gasping for breath he looked around his dark room for the sound that had woken him. He looked at the clock in his bedside table. The faint green glow told him it was only one in the morning. He had just managed to fall asleep and was dreaming about Harry, when something startled him out of his slumber.

Was it a noise? No… a feeling. He felt like he was having his heart ripped out of his chest, and he would have thought it was just the dream, except he could still feel it.

His breathing came in short gasps, not able to get enough air, and he started feeling faint. The edges of his vision blackened and he lost consciousness.

--

Draco groaned, his head felt like it was split in two. He stretched and noticed that as expected, Harry hadn't come home.

Then the strange sensations of that morning, the first time he woke up, overtook him. He was curious as to their cause. Did the boy he fucked get him sick? It would have served him right.

A feeling of dread steeled Draco's movements, as he struggled to figure out what the problem had been. He flinched at the light tapping on the window. His eagle owl was perched just outside, waiting for his master to open it.

Draco scrambled to unlatch the window and swung it open. The bird flew into the room with its heavy burden. He pulled the newspaper from its talons and gave the bird a treat.

Setting the paper down next to his armchair he set about making coffee. He made extra on the off chance that Harry would come home sooner rather than later. Wishful thinking on his part.

With the hot mug in one hand, he took a seat and pulled the _Profit _in front of him with the other. The front-page article caused him to drop the scalding hot liquid into his lap, as the mug fell from his hand, bouncing off his leg and finally crashing to the floor.

No mind was paid to the scorching liquid blistering his fair skin, because his mind was fully occupied elsewhere.

On the front-page of the paper was a photograph of himself and Harry, smiling happily and waving, after a moment, Harry leaned over and kissed the Draco in the photograph. Although the picture was unnerving enough because of the events of the night before, it was the headline that made Draco whimper in pain.

'Minister of Magic, Harry James Potter, dead at 32 years old'

Draco couldn't breathe, he couldn't move from where he sat and he couldn't find words to express the immense heartbreak he felt. A sickening thought flooded over him and he scanned the article to confirm it. Harry died at one o'clock that same morning. The same time that Draco had woken in heart wrenching pain.

Suicide. That was what the _Profit_ reported as the cause of death. Draco couldn't grasp any of the finer details, only that he drowned himself in the Weasley's guest bath, without the other two being aware of it until it was too late.

Draco didn't even know the kind of will it would take to bypass your instincts and to let the water take your life, but he knew if anyone had the willpower to achieve such a feat that it would have been Harry. He had the power and Draco gave him the reason.

His body wracked with shuddering sobs, he didn't even hear the door blast open. He likely wouldn't have stopped the flame haired intruder even if he had noticed the entrance being shattered into a million pieces or even the outstretched wand aimed at his own head.

Ron paced around the room and faced Draco, his face hardened at the sight of the Slytherin enthralled with grief. "You did this," he spat. "You pushed him and you pushed him and now look!" Ron screamed, stabbing the headline of the newspaper with his wand.

His face smeared and puffy with tears, Draco finally met Ron's furious blue eyes. They were red ringed and swollen, a testament to his painful morning. "I know," Draco rasped.

"You know?" Ron screamed. "Harry's dead and the best you can come up with is 'I know'?"

Draco nodded; his chest numb where his heart had once beat furiously for Harry. "I'm sorry," he sobbed, falling to his knees in front of Ron, paying no mind as his skin was sliced and cut by the shattered coffee mug.

"It's too late to apologize, Malfoy," Ron spat, training his wand on Draco's icy heart.

Draco nodded again and spread his arms out, ready to take the killing blow that Ron would deal out, looking forward to it. Even in his wildest imagination he hadn't know how deeply his love for Harry flowed, and without it, he was void of anything that could be remotely referred to as 'happiness'. He always thought that in the end, Harry would merely leave him, he had never once thought it would be such a complete absence, one that Draco could never hope to recover from.

Ron scowled and lowered his wand. "You don't deserve to die," he hissed. "That would be too easy a way out." He took a ridged step toward the door and hesitated, looking back at the slippery blonde who had caused Harry so much pain, and eventually his death.

He punched him in square in the nose, pouring every ounce of hatred he had ever felt toward the ferret into the blow, and relished in the feeling of bones breaking under his fist.

Turning on his heel, Ron left the flat and went back to his wife and children, who were still mourning their uncle Harry.

The minutes turned into hours and hours turned into days as Draco stayed, glued to the same spot, waiting for it to all be a joke, for Harry to walk through the door asking if he had learned his lesson. He had, he learned the all-encompassing pain that could be inflicted by a loved one. The pain that he had inflicted on Harry more times than he could count was now doubled back upon him. He wasted away, crumpled on the floor, waiting.

He wanted the chance to apologize and make it all up to Harry, but it was too late… too late.


End file.
